


Fluorescent Adolescent

by theonetheonlyalexthemonarch



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Nostalgia, Sort Of, humor?, this was supposed to be funny sorry about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 17:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12173373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonetheonlyalexthemonarch/pseuds/theonetheonlyalexthemonarch
Summary: Missy reminisces. And regrets.





	Fluorescent Adolescent

**Author's Note:**

> So I've actually had this idea for a while, but like. I didn't feel like writing it. So today I put Fluorescent Adolescent by the Arctic Monkeys on repeat and didn't turn it off until I was done.
> 
> This was also actually supposed to be funny and only a little sad, mainly focusing on the Missy in between her change. Not furious over captivity, but not willing to help the Doctor yet. Bitter. Sad. And yes, funny and sarcastic.
> 
> This is based off the song Fluorescent Adolescent, though I hope you figured that out by now.
> 
> Some warnings: lots of sex mentions, general sadness, regrets, sort of self-hatred, and a lil bit of alcohol. Also I didn't proofread this at all.

She remembered when she used to be a rascal.

When he used to be, too, for that matter.

God, they were wild. Absolutely mad. Slinking about the Academy, terrorizing literally everyone. They used to be the _worst_. No one was safe. Not even each other. They’d made a game of sneaking up on each other and pinning the other. Whoever fought best topped. And in their _uniforms_ , too. It was vicious and wild and exhilarating and _fun_.

And even after-- well, _that_ \-- it was still bloody brilliant. They had the times of their lives. After a particularly brutal battle, he used to push him up against a wall and oh…

The angry sex was the best, she’d always thought. After he’d pull off some awful scheme and they came to blows, he would almost always wind up underneath the Doctor pull the big scared eyes or the bloody grin and Theta’d stare down at him, absolutely fucking furious. And then fucking furiously.

It was damn _good_. The best she’d ever had, not that she’d ever tell him that. His ego was big enough already.

And now here she was. Locked in a damn box. They’d fuck for sure, she was entirely too tempting and she knew just how to get to him, but it was so _boring_. He was so caring, so gentle. They wouldn’t fight, he’d just pacify her and they’d skip straight to the makeup sex, which was ignoring an integral part of their relationship, she thought. When Beatrice and Benedick got married, did they stop bickering? No! When Theta had Koschei in a veritable _sex dungeon_ , was there even an ounce of weird, kinky, clothed sex on the piano? No, of course there wasn’t! They used the _bed_ , which was just so _unbearably pedestrian_ of them.

All of this to be _nice_. Agreeable. The Doctor’s brand of good. She couldn’t believe she gave up conquering the universe for guilt and mediocre sex. She gave up ferocious, naughty, brilliant hate sex for emotions and captivity and these _goddamned cocktails that didn’t have any kick, where the fuck is the tabasco_.

So she might’ve been nursing a hangover. So she drank herself into a stupor last night. So maybe that was why she was feeling so grouchy and nostalgic. That didn’t change two important facts: one, life in the vault, being nice and good and sappy with Theta, was _boring_ , and two, no one in this damn place knew how to make a _fucking Bloody Mary_.

She thought that it would be fun, being friends again. Repairing their relationship. Going back to when life was easy.

But this? Surely the Doctor knew she couldn’t do this. Everything _seemed_ fine, but everything _seems_ fine when you’re looking at someone fall into the event horizon of a black hole because of… some bloody light shit, her brain hurt too much to think too hard on it at the moment.

If the positions were switched, she would never do this to him. It would kill him. They both existed to move and explore and never, ever sit still. That was why they were so perfect for each other. That was why they were terrible for each other. They would get bored of each other, one usually sooner than the other, and then one would leave, the other would be heartbroken, they’d be reunited, rinse and repeat.

They hurt each other. And now, she was bored. She was ready to abandon him, she was sick of his company. She’d come back eventually, but she needed some time and space (hah, hilarious, she was the epitome of humor).

But she couldn’t leave.

And it wasn’t like the Doctor was so virtuous either. That boy was a whore, make no mistake. She knew all about his liaisons with anyone who would take him. She wasn’t surprised. He got bored of her, too. But he also couldn’t leave. Serves the selfish bastard right.

She supposed… she had hoped… maybe it would be different this time. Maybe it would last.

Nevermind. It was a stupid dream, anyway.

And after all, what had it amounted to? She was reading some terrible magazine that guaranteed to fix her sex life while her head was pounding and sipping some shitty cocktail Nardole had claimed was a Bloody Mary, held captive like an animal by a bored jailer who was sneaking out and breaking his vow to guard her for a thousand years.

She had a brief fantasy of going to the publisher of this magazine and slaughtering everyone there. It hadn’t got the Doctor to nail her like she’d hoped. And it did say it “guaranteed” to fix things.

It was all so disgustingly _domestic_. There was a time, she knew, when the Doctor would flee at the mere word.

She wasn’t even up for the boring sex lately. Frankly, she was worried she’d fall asleep. Might as well forget it. There were more interesting things to do.

God, she remembered when she lived in the moment. Every moment as her last. Never getting sentimental for the “good old days” because she was determined to make each day more exciting than the last.

Look how well that turned out for her. Now she was sentimental for just _better sex_.

She swore she’d never do this. That she’d never end up like this. And sure, she got here kicking and screaming, but she got here. There were only two people she tried to never break promises with: Theta and herself. The former to make him feel guilty for all the promises to he broke, and the latter because while she might not have the most bang up mental health in the galaxy, she liked herself, and she wanted to keep old promises. They usually were made for a reason and they usually made her happy.

She knew how she got here. She was on to last resorts. Koschei, die? It was unthinkable. And she did want to be the Doctor’s friend again.

She hadn’t counted on him being quite so sanctimonious. And had hoped he’d have been a little easier to manipulate.

But he was. And now she was just playing it by ear because, god, what else could she do? She was actually changing a bit. She was actually feeling guilt over her actions. There was no way she could go back to what she once was.

She suddenly felt quite like crying. It was a common urge these days. She really tried not to this time; it always ended with Theta coming down and whispering sweet nothings (and that’s all they were-- nothing. There wasn’t any substance to them any more) and holding her and reassuring her and having slow loving sex that made her feel like he actually loved her and that was certainly more than she deserved and then that would all change her even further.

She was so different now. All because of him. She wanted to go back but she just didn’t know how.

When he came down that night (because of course he did, she knew he would) and found her, weeping ever so quietly, he held her and kissed her and did everything in his power to make her happy.

She stopped crying at some point.

After they made love (fucked, they fucked, don’t sugar-coat it, he didn’t really love her) he asked her why she was so upset.

“He’s dead,” she told him. “He’s dead and he’s not coming back and I miss him so much.”

She didn’t tell him she was talking about her past self. He knew anyway.

He pulled her close. “I know,” he said. “I miss him, too. I loved him. But also love you. I always have and always will.”

She allowed herself to believe him, just this once, just for a short while.

She curled up in his arms and cried.

**Author's Note:**

> BET YOU DON'T LOVE AND MISS YOUR PAST SELF NOW, MISSY
> 
> im really tired


End file.
